Speak Now
by KJ-MonkeyJunkie3
Summary: Agent Clint Barton's past just showed up - but not for him. She can't be bothered with Clint anymore... Or so she thinks, now that a certain Captain Rogers seems to have taken a shine to her. Hawkeye/OC because I'm sick of hearing about BlackHawk.
1. Part 1

So basically, I'm sick of hearing about Hawkeye/Black Widow... Just cuz I am, and also I like the dynamic they have now and I think that a romance between them would mess it up... So I'm writing something different. I know he like, marries Mockingbird and stuff, but I'm pretending that the movie and only the movie is canon to the Avengers, since comic books get a little confusing and it doesn't seem like the Mockingbird thing works out all that well anyways. Also, I know nothing about all the science-y stuff I mention, so I tried to keep it real vague and if I'm wrong about it, I apologize. I don't actually know what I'm talking about on that front. So, here goes. Let me know if it's worth continuing. Hope you enjoy and please please please review!

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She leans over the table and shakes her head. "No. You couldn't get subatomic particles to behave that way no matter how hard you tried. I'm sorry, Jane. It just can't happen."

"What can't happen?" He materializes suddenly at her side, his breath tickling her ear as he murmurs his question. She can feel warmth through the thin fabric of her shirt as his hand comes to rest on the small of her back under the pretense of getting a closer look at the papers spread across the table.

A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, but she fights it down. "Agent Barton. It's been awhile."

"Didn't I ask you to call me Clint, Dr. Howard?" She can hear the smirk in his voice, a tone which she's sure that only she and Agent Romanoff can sense, and she just smiles slightly and shakes her head. He continues, "What are we talking about?"

Dr. Banner doesn't even look up as he begins to explain to Agent Barton about subatomic particles and Jane Foster's ideas for making a few improvements to the Avengers' uniforms and weapons. It's all Rebekah can do to realize that his mouth is moving, much less process the words coming out of it. Despite her Ph.D. in Biology and M.S. in Chemistry, everything Dr. Banner is saying sounds very technical and she can't understand a word of it. Suddenly, the hand slips down a couple of inches and she feels something being tucked into the back pocket of her jeans. She barely represses a shiver as his hand trails up to linger briefly on her back, then disappears, leaving a cold spot where it had rested just a moment before. "I see. Well, maybe Mr. Stark is right and I really ought to leave all the science to the scientists," Barton chuckles. "I'd better go do my sweep. They always miss a piece of trash or two."

Rebekah laughs with the rest of the group, and after a minute or two, straightens. "My head is killing me. Let me just grab a couple of aspirin and I'll be right back." The group nods, Captain Rogers waving her off distractedly as he struggles to keep up with the scientific jargon being bandied back and forth between Jane, Dr. Banner, and Tony Stark. She sighs with relief, knowing that the only time Captain Rogers isn't watching her is when he's trying to understand all the intellectual talk between the rest of the Avengers and any others related to the team who happened by. He's been watching her since her first day on the ship, trying, she assumes, to figure out who she is and where exactly she fits in. It's not a bad question, since she isn't exactly sure herself. She thought she was just being assigned to assist Jane and Dr. Banner with their work, but finding that she'd been assigned to the very same locale as Agent Clint Barton has raised a few red flags in her mind. It's been years since they've seen each other. It could have just been a fluke. But the odds of something like this happening by chance around the Avengers seem slimmer than the odds of being struck by lightning on the day you win the lottery—twice.

She slips around the corner and pulls the note out of her pocket, glances at the few hastily scribbled words, then moves down the hall and into the parachute hangar, and for a moment, she stands, unmoving, as her eyes adjust to the darkness. "I'm glad you found my note."

She snickers to cover her uneasiness. "It's not as if you made much attempt to hide it. I mean, I would have had to be developmentally and functionally retarded and maybe paralyzed from the waist down to have missed your hand on my ass." She glances around the dark hangar, searching for a sign as to where he might be hiding.

"Alright. Let me rephrase: I'm glad you decided to come," the smirk has returned to his voice. Suddenly, he drops to the ground behind her and she jumps, startled. "Sorry about that," he grins.

"No you're not." But she can't help returning his smile for a brief moment.

A low chuckle escapes from his throat as he takes a few steps toward her. She steps back until her back comes in contact with the wall. Still he advances. "It's been too long, Beck."

Her breathing grows short as he places each of his glorious arms against the wall on either side of her, trapping her. "I don't see how that's my fault."

For a moment, the intensity in his gaze falters, and he purses his lips. "I know. I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… left." For that moment, when he's looking dejected and almost… vulnerable, she supposes, she's bombarded with all the memories from six years ago, and closes her eyes as she clears her head.

She forces her eyes open again. "Left? No, Clint. You disappeared. You didn't leave so much as a note in my back pocket."

He leans in and breathes another apology before angling his head to reach her lips with his. At the last second, she turns, and his lips land harmlessly on her cheek. She summons the last of her resistance and ducks out from between his arms. Just before she closes the door behind her, she whispers, "Not how it works, Barton."

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So there's Part One. Want a Part Two? Leave a review and let me know!


	2. Part 2

Thanks for half-dozen or so reviews and requests for continuations. Not as many as I wanted, but here's Part 2, because this story is kinda writing itself thus far. Read and enjoy! Also, I love reviews. PLEASE review. Please?

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Part 2

"Someone's watching you." Rebekah doesn't look away from the view of the clouds out the window of the helicarrier.

She shrugs. "He's always watching me. Doesn't quite trust me yet, I expect."

"Why wouldn't he trust you?"

"Because I'm new. Haven't proved that I deserve to be here," she sighs.

"But you two know each other, don't you? At least that's what he told me."

Rebekah turns to look at her companion, confused, and is shocked to find herself staring at the very man she'd thought was the topic of their conversation. "Captain Rogers. Um, who—" Realization dawns. Clint. Hawkeye. "Right. Agent Barton. Yeah, we've met before, but that was years ago."

He frowns. "It seemed like you two knew each other better than that."

She purses her lips. "Cap, you seem like a good guy. Don't look for answers you'll wish you hadn't found."

She turns to go, and he follows her. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to pry. Who did you think I was talking about?"

"What? Oh, no one. Have you had lunch?"

"It's three in the afternoon. You haven't eaten lunch yet?" He's watching her again, she can feel it, but this time, she can also feel the concern in his gaze, and it's unnerving.

"Um, no. I guess I just lost track of time," Rebekah checks her watch just to be sure. Somehow she's spent four hours staring out that window. People must think she's mad.

"Would you like some company?"

"That'd be great," she smiles, and he slows his strides to keep pace with her until they reach the mess hall and he steps forward to open the door for her. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, ma'am." He's wearing a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose his muscle-y forearms, and Rebekah has to force herself to tear her eyes away from them. God, what is it with her and arms? She steps past him and he motions to a table and pulls out a chair for her.

She stares at it skeptically. "I still have to get my food, Cap."

"I'll get it for you. What do you want?"

She shakes her head and heads back toward the kitchen. "Come on. I've got backstage passes."

"What?"

"Never mind. Just follow me." She pushes through the swinging doors before he can get to them and holds it open just long enough for him to step through behind her. She grins at the cook who's lounging in the back corner of the kitchen. "Hey, Martin. I'm just gonna grab a bite. Need a break?"

"Sure thing, Becky. Just clean up when you're done. I'll be back in an hour to start on dinner."

The Captain watches Martin go and frowns down at Rebekah. "Are we supposed to be back here?"

She smiles up at him. "First rule of a joint like this? Make friends with the cooks." She begins rummaging through the refrigerator. "Want anything?"

"No, thank you." He leans against the counter and watches her move around the room.

Within a matter of minutes, she's made herself a sandwich, poured herself a glass of juice, and is perched on one of the counters with her plate balanced on her lap. "So tell me about yourself, Captain Rogers."

"Steve. You can call me Steve."

"Alright, Steve. Tell me about yourself."

"What do you want to know?" She can tell he's uncomfortable, and she's not sure why. He's the one who's always staring at her.

"Vital statistics. Medical records. Favorite bands and movies. Whatever you want to tell me. Although I should tell you I'm here not only to help Dr. Banner and Jane but to help out in the infirmary if I'm needed, so I can access your medical records pretty easily."

He chuckles. "Well, there's not much to see there, anyways. Had a procedure done a few… decades back, got frozen in ice for a while, slept for a really long time, and that's really all there is to tell as far as my medical records go. Vital statistics… I'm 6'2", 220 pounds, blonde hair, blue eyes, born in Brooklyn on July 4, 1920... All of my favorite musicians are from when I was young—you know, Bing Crosby, Fred Astaire, and quite a bit of Classical music. You know, Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata and Mozart and such…"

Rebekah's face lights up. "You… like Bing?"

"Sure. He's great. You like him?"

Rebekah grins. "I love him. There's no one better. Except maybe Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin…"

He shakes his head. "Who?"

"Oh, that's right. They were… between your time?" She giggles. "You'll have to come over some time and we'll listen to them."

"Come over… to your room?"

She narrows her eyes at him for a moment, then softens. "Trust me, Cap—Steve. There's nothing wrong with it. No one would ever think you were up to any mischief."

He pauses, then, "Well, if you're sure it's alright…"

"Of course it's alright. When are you free?"

"How about lunchtime tomorrow?" he suggests.

She smiles brightly. "That sounds perfect."

The metal doors creak open softly and Agent Barton steps in. "Captain. Fury's looking for you."

"Oh, alright. I'll be right there." The Captain flashes a smile at Rebekah. "Lunch tomorrow?"

She grins. "Lunch tomorrow."

"I'll see you then, ma'am."

"See you then, Steve." She waves as he disappears out the door and down the hall.

"What are you doing, Becks?" Barton flashes Rebekah a disapproving look.

She shrugs. "I'm not doing anything. He offered to keep me company since I hadn't had lunch yet. He's a nice guy. That's all."

Barton nods, clearly still unconvinced. "I see."

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So there it is. Part 3 coming soon. REVIEW PLEASE! =) And thanks for reading!


	3. Part 3

Ok, here's Part 3. All the reviews have been GREATLY appreciated, so thanks! Italics = Flashbacks. I'm gonna try to make every 3rd chapter a flashback, and here's the first one. I know I haven't said exactly how long before the rest of the story it all is, but it's anywhere from 5-7 years previous. Also, I know that Barton might seem a little out of character (or not; there's only been one movie), but I'm trying to show a contrast in his behavior between past and present. All the same, if I'm not doing it well or it seems TOO out of character, please let me know and I'll fix it! Okay, so here goes. Read, review, enjoy! =)

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Part 3

"_We met in an elevator. How corny is that?" Rebekah giggles from under Clint's arm. He chuckles and presses a kiss into her temple. _

_Natasha smiles. "Depends. What happened?"_

"_Nothing, at first," Clint replies. "We just caught the same elevator and she made me laugh. It spiraled from there." _

"_You?" Natasha looks skeptical. "She made _you _laugh? _Bozhe moi_. You must be a miracle worker," she turns to Rebekah._

_Rebekah laughs. "Not at all. I'm just very clumsy. I was running to catch the elevator and I got in just as the doors closed. Except… My foot got caught."_

"_In the door?" Natasha frowns. _

"_Right in there," Clint chuckles. "Her foot got caught and she would have fallen on her face were it not for the fact that her foot was caught. You should have seen it. You would have thought it was funny, too."_

_Rebekah smacks him in the side. "Well anyways, he laughed, and I made some sort of snarky comment, which made him laugh more, and the rest, as they say, is history," she grins. _

_Natasha nods and finishes her drink. "Well, I'm gonna go. Hope you enjoyed your birthday, Rebekah. I'll see you around." _

_Rebekah waves, and Clint stands. "I'll walk her out. You gonna be okay?"_

_She raises her eyebrows at him. "I'll be fine. Just hurry back."_

"_I will." He kisses her nose and follows Natasha out the door. He returns a few minutes later and produces a small package from behind his back. "Happy birthday, Becks."_

_She squeals and snatches the little box from him. "I love being twenty-two! What is it?"_

"_Why don't you open it and find out?" he smirks, amused._

_She frowns at him teasingly. "Why don't you sit down and shut up? I have a present to open." He slides into the booth across from her and watches as she neatly slides her finger underneath the tape and removes the wrapping paper. She lifts the lid off of the box and raises her eyebrows. "It's a key… Oh, please don't tell me it's some cheesy, 'key-to-your-heart' thing." _

_Her eyes are so wide and pleading that he can't help laughing. Her expression falls, and he stifles the laugh. "Actually, it's more of a 'key-to-my-apartment-would-you-like-to-move-in-with-me?' thing."_

_Her eyes widen and a slow grin spreads across her face. "Really?" He nods, and she shrieks excitedly. "You really want me to move in with you?"_

_He purses his lips and furrows his eyebrows in mock consternation. "Are you going to continue to talk in that high, squeaky voice?"_

_She clears her throat. "No."_

_He chuckles and slips out of his side of the booth to slide in next to her. "I'm just kidding. Of course I want you to move in. It'd be so… tremendous to know that when I get back from wherever my work sends me, you'll be at home waiting for me."_

_She squeals again and throws her arms around him, peppering his face and neck with kisses. "Of course I will be waiting for you. I'll always be waiting for you. I love you." She smiles softly and kisses him on the lips. "And yes, I will move in with you."_

_His smile fades. "Oh… I was just kidding about that." She straightens, frowning. He grins and slips his arms around her. "I was trying to be funny. I don't know why now. Please don't hurt me. Move in with me. I love you." He kisses her twice on the lips before she responds by pushing him out of the booth. _

"_That's not funny," she scowls. He grins sheepishly up at her from the floor, and after a minute or so, her glower fades into a reluctant smile. He climbs back up into the booth and pulls her into his arms for a passionate kiss. When they finally break away, she murmurs, "It's still not funny, asshole."_

_He shakes his head. "I know. But I am an asshole who is also your roommate."_

_She laughs and shivers as his hand slides up her thigh. "Can we get out of here?"_

"_Sure. My place or yours?" _

_She giggles and links her hand in his. "Ours."_

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End of Part 3. Hope you like! And again, PLEASE review!


	4. Part 4

Hello, everyone! Thank you so much for all the reviews and such-I really appreciate them! Here's Part 4 of Rebekah's story; updates might not be as regular anymore, since I won't have access to the internet as much over the summer, but I'll do my level best to update at least once a week! So without further ado, I give you Part 4. Read. Enjoy. Review. Repeat as desired.

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Part 3

Rebekah watches Captain Rogers rubs tiredly at his neck as he discusses the most recent mission with Tony Stark and Thor. Barton is off to the side with Agent Romanoff, talking quietly with her and watching. Always watching. Between him and the Captain, she almost feels uncomfortable changing her clothes in her own room. She approaches slowly and kicks a chair up behind The Captain, then reaches up, grabs his shoulders, and pulls him down into it. "Quit with the neck rolling. You're driving me crazy and it's never gonna get all these knots sorted out." She begins kneading the back of his neck with her fingers, applying pressure to the knots first in his neck, and slowly working her way farther out across his broad shoulders.

Stark watched them interestedly for awhile, then asked, "Better than Shawarma, eh, Cap? Now, Miss Howard, I don't suppose I could go next there? Or is that the Tuesday night All-American Golden Boy Special?"

"Actually, it's the Tuesday night Not A Jackass Special," Rebekah quips. At Stark's frown, she pauses. "Oh, that's right. You don't have to be a… what was it? Genius billionaire playboy philanthropist with a super-suit? Right. You don't have to be that to use sarcasm."

Thor and the Captain chuckle. Dr. Banner's voice comes from behind Rebekah. "No, but if you're a doctor of Biology who's supposed to be working on keeping up the health of this team through scientific advances in their protective gear and weaponry, then maybe you ought to set the sarcasm aside and get back in the lab."

Rebekah turns to grin at him. "Thanks, Bruce, but the Captain's shield is gonna do exactly nothing if he can't move his arms, neck and shoulders right. This is more my area anyways—how the human body works and functions. I took a lot of Kinesiology in college, and between that and my Ph.D. in Biology, I can tell you right now that no Super Soldier Serum can keep him going forever if he won't take any time to slow down and let his body recover from all the physical exertion that he's going through practically on a daily basis."

"And what about the rest of us? Is it only the Captain that needs rest?" Stark inquires, still irked that someone would even dare to use the power of sarcasm against him, no matter how poorly it had been done or not.

"That goes for the rest of you as well," Rebekah raises her eyebrows at him. "But I've noticed that in your downtime, you listen to Black Sabbath and fiddle on the computer, and Captain Rogers here spends his free time in the gym working over a couple dozen punching bags at a time. If he won't get any rest on his own, then I have to help him loosen up all these knots and relax his muscles in the short time that I have to do so."

Stark is unmoved. "I haven't had an injection of Super Soldier Serum. I have normal human muscles. I get knots just as easily as he does. I know he's an older fella—my dad's age, really—but that doesn't necessarily mean that he needs a massage more than I do."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, I just assumed that since you're a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist that you'd realize that you could afford to hire your own massage therapist from Sweden named Ilsa who wouldn't have gotten the chance to follow her dreams of becoming a supermodel without your generous support while she was still nothing more than a tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed massage therapist to the stars," Rebekah shoots back.

Before Stark can make his reply, Barton steps in and says quietly, "Why don't you take Captain Rogers to the infirmary and have one of the medics finish up with that."

"No can do, Agent. This is strictly precautionary. But, um, we could relocate to your room, Cap, if you're not opposed." She hold up a hand as Stark opens his mouth to speak. "Not a word, Stark. Making jokes won't make it so."

"No, but sex will. Excuse my language, Cap," Stark's apology is less than sincere, and Rebekah cocks an eyebrow.

"It's not your language that offends me, Stark. It's what you're insinuating." Steve is on his feet now, eyeing Stark almost angrily. "Not about me, but about this lady here. That you would imply that she would allow me to… to…"

Stark steps past The Captain and pats him on the shoulder as he heads for his room. "I'll let you struggle with that one for a bit."

Steve makes a move to follow him, but Rebekah puts a hand on his arm. "It's fine, Steve. He's just trying to get under your skin. It's not worth picking a fight about. Come on. You'd better let me finish with these knots." She locates one in the middle of his back and pushes on it—hard. He jumps and allows her to push him towards the corridor to his room.

"Not so fast." Fury's voice has a way of filling up the room no matter where he is in it. "Got a call. Viper's being a real pain in Chicago's ass. We're fifteen minutes out. Better go suit up. Meet on the launch deck in ten."

Steve purses his lips and shrugs at Rebekah. "Duty calls."

She smiles. "It's fine. We'll finish when you get back. They'll want me to hang around in the infirmary in case they need me, so that's where I'll be when you're done."

* * *

Eight hours later, the team trudges onto the bridge, utterly spent. "Rogers, get your ass to the infirmary. You're bleeding," Fury orders. The Captain nods and heads down the corridor to the infirmary, reaching up with his not-bleeding arm to rub at his neck.

"What happened to you?" Rebekah helps him sit down, a worried expression on her face.

"Nothing serious," he assures her.

"Lose your shirt," she orders, piling up supplies with which to treat his arm beside him. He shrugs his shirt off, and her breath catches as she catches a glimpse of his perfectly toned chest and stomach. She averts her eyes—it's probably like the Ark of the Covenant and best not to look directly at it, she muses, first cleaning the blood off of his arm and cleaning out the wound as best as she can. He doesn't so much as flinch as she does so, although she knows from experience that the stuff stings quite painfully. Next, she places a few gauze pads on the cut and finishes up by wrapping a bandage around his entire bicep, her hand lingering just a little bit longer than is strictly necessary on his arm as she ties it off. "All done," she smiles, unable to stop her fingers from gently caressing the bandaged area of his arm again.

He reaches to brush away a smear of blood on her cheek and slowly pulls her closer until their lips meet softly, chastely. The kiss is quick and light, but at the end of it, she finds herself leaning forward expectantly, awaiting another. He moves his hand to the back of her neck and murmurs, "You know, I think that's one of the most un-gentlemanly things I've ever done."

She grins unexpectedly and presses her lips to the tip of his nose. "I kinda liked it."

He moves away and stands, pulling his undershirt back on. "I'd better go see about getting this rip fixed up," he motions to his uniform, "But… would you like to have dinner with me?"

"I'd love to, Steve." She checks the clock on the wall behind her. "Eight o'clock?"

"Eight it is. I'll see you the, Becky." He smiles shyly and disappears down the hall as Barton steps into the room.

He's clearly witnessed the entire exchange, but he doesn't mention it at first, instead motioning to his ankle. "Can you wrap this up? I turned on it wrong or something out there."

She nods. "Ice it first." She scoops ice into a bag and places it on his ankle. "Twenty minutes and then I'll wrap it. Don't go anywhere."

After the twenty minutes are over, she quickly tapes his ankle up. As she's working, he watches her. Finally, he speaks. "You're not doing anything, huh? He's just a nice guy? Come on, Becks."

Her eyes dart up to his briefly. She shrugs. "I don't have to wonder with him." She pats the last bit of tape on his ankle. "You're done. You can go."

He stands and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His hands are warm, rough from years of notching arrows and close combat. She turns slightly, relishing the feel of his skin against hers as his fingers brush against her face. She's missed the feeling, if she's being honest with herself. She closes her eyes and allows him to caress her face briefly, before she moves to pull away. He catches her jaw and gently brings her face around to look in his eyes. "If you give me another chance, you won't have to wonder with me either." She doesn't say anything—can't say anything—and he heaves a sigh and heads out the door, walking stiffly as he adjusts to the tape around his ankle. She watches him go and slumps against the table, running a hand through her hair exhaustedly.


	5. Part 5

Even though I updated yesterday, this chapter is already written and since I don't know when I'll have another chance to post it, I thought I'd go ahead and put it up. Hope you all enjoy! Please review!

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Part 5

Rebekah turns slowly in front of the mirror, appraising her reflection carefully. She purses her lips and sits down on her bed to pull on her shoes, five-inch strappy silver stilettos that she had purchased solely because they went with the sparkly, silver, one-shouldered, mid-thigh-length dress she's wearing. She tugs on the hem of the dress and straightens, giving her hair one last flip and rubbing her lips together, then pulling them apart with a resounding pop.

They've been staying at the newly rebuilt Stark Tower for the past couple of weeks, and although Jane is getting antsy to return to her research, she's agreed to go with the other women on a ladies' night before she heads back west. In a week, Jane and Thor will be in New Mexico, Banner will be back in Calcutta, Barton and Romanoff will be on separate intelligence missions around the world, Stark and Pepper will be taking a vacation in Jamaica, and Steve will be ensconced back in his gym, beating punching bags into oblivion until such time as he is needed for another mission.

Tonight, however, the ladies are going out on the town while the men will be going out for drinks and then coming back for an all-night poker game, or until Banner decides it's time to quit, Stark has joked. A couple of nights from now, they'll all go out together and hit all the spots that Stark has VIP access to. Rebekah shrugs and strolls out of her room and to the living room, where Agent Romanoff is chatting with Dr. Banner, Pepper Potts, and Tony Stark. Captain Rogers, Thor, and Agent Barton are lounging on the couch, watching TV, although Rebekah notices that their eyes dart over to Natasha fairly regularly. It's no wonder, since Natasha is wearing a silky red dress with a plunging neckline and an open back that barely has enough fabric to cover her ass.

Barton spots Rebekah first, and though his eyebrows raise slightly as he processes her appearance, Steve is quicker to bound to her side. "Wow, Becky. You look great. So you ladies are actually going out like that, huh?"

"You'd better believe they are," Barton saunters over to join them. "These ladies know how to tear up the town like no one else."

Rebekah flashes him a teasing smile. "And you can take that to the bank, Cap."

"Take what to the bank?" Natasha takes a few swaying steps and is between the Captain and Agent Barton.

"Our partying proficiency," Rebekah grins.

"Oh, that. Yeah, take it from me, Cap. We're professionals," Natasha smirks.

Rebekah places a hand on her hip. "And for a professional to do their job properly, they have to have the appropriate attire. And this," she motions to herself, then to Natasha, "Is what that looks like. If you want to know what's appropriate for a fella, ask Agent Barton here, or Mr. Stark over there. They can properly educate you, but I think Stark might be occupied with Dr. Banner for awhile," she cocks an eyebrow as Stark motions disbelievingly at Banner's brown corduroy slacks and grey button-down shirt. As Banner shakes his head and heads back down the hall, presumably to change his clothes, Rebekah, Natasha, Steve, and Clint all begin to laugh quietly.

"Well, no one's corrected my attire yet, so I assume I'm alright?" Steve glances down at his leather bomber jacket, khaki slacks and blue shirt.

"I think you look fine," Rebekah smiles, "But I'm biased." She flattens Steve's collar and flashes him a knowing smile. They've been spending practically all their time together over the last few weeks, a fact which silently irks Barton as much as it delights Steve.

"Unbutton the top button, there, Cap," Natasha reaches over and deftly undoes the top two buttons of his shirt. "That's better."

Jane appears in the doorway, looking somewhat uncomfortable in a lacy blouse and pencil skirt. Thor is at her side in an instant, unable to keep his eyes—or hands—off her, leading her over with one hand on her arm and one on her back. They approach Rebekah and Natasha's group and Jane gives a small half-smile. "So… are we ready?"

"I am," Natasha volunteers. "Let's go." In a second, she's at the elevator, shrugging a black jacket on over her dress.

"See you tomorrow," Steve presses a kiss into the back of Rebekah's hand. "Have a great time." He exchanges a glance with Barton and moves over to talk with Thor, leaving her alone with Barton.

Pepper exchanges a quick kiss with Tony and heads for the elevator. "I'm ready."

Barton catches Rebekah's arm as she turns to leave. "You look incredible, Becks. I've missed this look on you."

"Clint…" Her voice has an unmistakable warning tone, but he waves her off.

"I know. You don't care, but I want you to know how sexy and beautiful I think you are," he pulls her a little bit closer, and she allows him to. His arm slides up hers slowly, trailing fire up her arm.

She indulges for a second but then shakes him off. "No, Clint. This is what I mean when I say I never know what's going on with you. One minute I can't tell whether or not you even know I exist, and the next minute you're telling me how sexy I am and how you've missed seeing me like this. I'm sick of it, Clint."

"Becks…"

She steps away and picks up her clutch from the table by the elevator. "I'm all set. Let's head out."

* * *

It's four in the morning when the women return. Rebekah is the last one in, and as she dumps her clutch and jacket on the table beside the elevator, she realizes that Clint and Steve are sitting on the couch, watching TV together. Steve sees her walk in and jumps to his feet and takes a couple of long steps to reach her. "Hey. You don't look too much the worse for wear," he teases, kissing her forehead.

She grins lazily. "I will tomorrow…" she giggles and leans in to him, slightly tipsy.

He clears his throat. "Barton won't get off the couch. Says he needs to talk to you. You should maybe talk to him so he'll go to bed."

Rebekah nods, suddenly sobered. All of a sudden she's wishing she hadn't done those last couple of shots in an attempt to out-drink Natasha even though she knew it wasn't possible. She places a hand on Steve's chest to steady herself. "Thanks. I'll talk to him. Go ahead and get some rest… or whatever it is you do at night. I'll see you tomorrow—" she checks her watch, "—later. I'll see you later."

Steve brushes her hair away from her face. "Get some rest, Becky. I'll see you later." He turns and heads down the hall.

Rebekah takes a deep breath and moves slowly over to where Barton is sitting, stopping briefly to yank off her heels. She sinks down beside him, appraising him out of the corner of her eye. He's clearly had quite a bit to drink as well. "Clint, maybe this isn't the best time for us to—"

"It's not about having to wonder, is it?" he asks suddenly.

She stops. "What?"

He turns to watch her steadily. "You aren't really afraid of not knowing what I'm thinking, are you? You know me. You know I love you now as much as I ever did before. You know I'd never leave you again, don't you?"

She's silent for a long time before she answers. "I know."

He moves so quickly that she's caught off guard to see him kneeling on the floor in front of her, clasping her hands in his own. She watches his hands as he asks, "Then what is it? What are you afraid of? Why can't you even look at me?" She shakes her head desperately and he tightens his grip on her hands. She moves to pull away, but he murmurs, "Becks. Look at me. Please. Just look at me." After a long moment, she forces her eyes up to his own. She can see all of his pain and anger and regret and love burning in his eyes, and he can see hers. Neither of them wavers, even though she feels as though her heart is about to be torn out of her chest. "Becks, I'm sorry I left. It was stupid and wrong. I knew you needed me and I was so wrapped up in myself that I couldn't even bring myself to be there for you. And you have to know that there's not a second that goes by that I don't hate myself for doing it. Please. Let me make it up to you. I don't know how, but I swear I will."

She drops her gaze, unable to maintain it any longer, but his features are carved into her mind every bit as deeply as they were before and she closes her eyes in a fruitless attempt to clear her head. After what seems like an eternity, she manages in a strangled voice, "It's not because you left. I can almost understand that part." Her eyes flicker to his face again, and her voice breaks as she finishes her sentence. He doesn't say anything, waiting for her to continue. Eventually, she does. "It's because every time I see your face, I'm back there feeling everything I felt when it first happened. Not the pain so much anymore, but the hopelessness, and the hollowness, and that dull ache that always feels like it should hurt a lot more than it does. So if I just… let it fill up with anger or hurt or whatever, then I can at least… breathe." She slumps over. "Anything is better than just being empty." She covers her face with her hands and the tears begin for real. "It's because… every time I look at you… I see him."

Her last words are barely intelligible through the tears, and she breaks down fully, unable even to protest as he pulls her into his arms and buries his face in her hair. They begin to rock slowly, and she can feel his muscles flexing and tightening as he struggles for control, as well as his tears soaking into her hair. She clutches desperately at his shirt and arms, hanging on not for her life, but for her sanity.

It takes a long time, but eventually the tears stop, though they don't move at first, continuing their embrace much longer than necessary. Eventually, even though she relishes the feel of his arms around her, she shifts enough to let him know that she wants to move, and he releases her instantly. She places a hand on his cheek and softly kisses his forehead, then stands. "I'm going to bed. You should get some rest too."


	6. Part 6

Hey, all! Here's Part 6. Sorry for the wait. Hope you all enjoy and please continue to review! I really appreciate the feedback! =)

* * *

Part 6

_He's sitting on the edge of the bathtub and holding her hair as she leans over the toilet. She retches again, her entire body convulsing as the vomit splashes in the bowl. When she's done, she leans back, and Clint flushes the toilet and hands her a glass of water. She swishes the water around in her mouth and spits it out, then takes a couple of swallows. She rests her head on his knee, exhausted. "You wanna lay down?" he asks, rubbing her back._

_She nods miserably, and he lifts her effortlessly and carries her to their bed. He sets her down and pulls a light blanket over her legs, which she immediately pushes off. "Too hot," she mumbles, curling up on top of the covers. _

"_If you're not any better tomorrow, I'm gonna take you to the hospital," he declares._

_She starts to shake her head, but she's asleep before she can say anything. Clint retrieves a trash can from the bathroom and sets it by the side of the bed, then refills her water glass and places it on the bedside table. His phone rings and he answers it. "Barton."_

"_How's she doing?"_

"_Hey, Tash. She's not much better, but if she's not better by tomorrow I'm taking her to the ER."_

"_Good call. Fury's getting antsy to have you back. Doesn't like you taking all this time off at once."_

_He chuckles. "I'll bet he doesn't." _

"_Well, just hurry back. Make the hospital keep her if you have to. I don't want to have to do this Budapest assignment alone."_

"_I'll do my best, Tash."_

"_Good. Tell her I said feel better."_

"_I will."_

"_Okay. See you tomorrow."_

"_We'll see." He hangs up the phone and goes to sit on the bed beside her. He rubs her back softly for awhile before he falls asleep next to her. When he wakes up, she's gone. He jumps to his feet and hurries out of the room. "Becks? Rebekah? Where'd you go?"_

"_In the kitchen!" He hurries in and finds her leaning against the counter in his favorite t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, her long caramel-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She's holding a glass of Ginger Ale in her hand and smiles when he walks into the room. "Don't panic. I didn't run away with the milk man." He grins and moves to kiss her softly, but she ducks away and his lips land on her cheek. "Ginger Ale breath. You don't need a whiff of that," she jokes. _

"_I take it you're feeling better?" His hands slide down to her waist and he raises his eyebrows at her. _

"_Mmm. Yes, yes I am. Maybe I should start taking naps whenever I start not feeling good."_

"_Maybe you should," he grins and begins kissing her neck. _

_She tangles the fingers of her right hand in his hair and sighs, "You need to go to work tomorrow."_

"_Yeah, okay," he moves his lips to the other side of her neck and slips his arms around her small body. He's glad to find that she hasn't lost too much weight over the last couple of weeks—she hasn't been able to keep much down lately, and he's started to worry about her. _

_With some effort, she pushes him away. "I'm serious, Clint. You've taken the last week off to take care of me and it's the same thing every day. I'm miserable and sick until sometime around five o'clock, and then I'm fine until about three or four in the morning, when it starts all over again. And while I certainly appreciate you holding my hair and filling up my water glass, you can't just keep skipping work when we don't know how long it's gonna keep going on. I'll be alright. Really."_

_He purses his lips. "Becks, if you're not feeling better by tomorrow, I'm taking you to the hospital."_

"_No, you're going to work tomorrow. If I don't feel good, I'll go myself."_

_He narrows his eyes at her, skeptical. "You swear?"_

_She grins and gives him a quick peck on the lips. "I swear."_

_He recoils. "Ugh. Ginger Ale breath. You're killing me."_

"_Shut up." She smacks him on the arm and giggles. "Ok. So if I'm still sick tomorrow, I'll go to the hospital. But only if you go to work. Deal?"_

"_Deal." He shakes her outstretched hand and pulls her in for a kiss. _

* * *

_When Clint returns from work, Becky isn't in the apartment. He searches every room, calling her name. When he doesn't find her, he heads up to the roof and finds her sitting on the edge of it with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. He sneaks up behind her and puts his arms around her. She jumps, but leans back into him. "I hate it when you sneak up on me like that."_

"_No, you don't," he teases, kissing the top of her head and breathing in the scent of her hair. _

_She chuckles. "You know, I never really got what you enjoy so much about being up here. But it's nice."_

_He nods, looking out over the city. "It's peaceful. I feel like I can get a better perspective from up here."_

"_It is," she agrees, twining her fingers with his. "How was work?"_

_He perches next to her and allows her to crawl into his lap before answering, "Oh, you know. Same old, same old. I'd tell you more, but then I'd have to kill you, and I don't wanna do that because I kinda like you. How was the hospital?"_

_She offers him a nervous smile. "Well…"_

"_You went, didn't you?" His tone turns suspicious._

"_Of course I did! I promised, didn't I?"_

_He drops his face into her shoulder, then raises it again and places his chin on top of her head. "Yes, you did. So, what'd they say? Did they find anything?"_

_She's silent for a minute before she answers vaguely, "Well, they did find something…"_

"_What is it?" he straightens and watches her intently. _

_She chews on her lip for quite some time. Clint is patient with her at first, but he starts to get antsy after a while. Finally, she takes a deep breath and says with a nervous smile, "They found… Um… Well… I'm pregnant."_

_He stares at her for a moment, shocked, but after a few minutes, a grin spreads across his face. "Really?" She nods. "We're having a baby?" She nods again, her smile widening. He leaps to his feet, carrying her with him and twirling her around. "We're having a baby!" He laughs, and when they finally stop twirling, he sinks into one of their neighbors' lounge chairs, laughing breathlessly with her still in his arms. _

_She slips her arms around his neck and kisses him softly. "I'm so glad you're happy about it."_

"_Of course I'm happy about it. I couldn't be more thrilled." He kisses her once, twice, three times, then pauses and looks down at her. _

_She grins uneasily. "I love your eyes. They're so beautiful and green. But why… are they looking at me like that?"_

_He tightens his grip around her. "Marry me, Becks."_

_Her eyes widen. "What?"_

_He leans down to murmur against her ear, "Marry me." _

_After a brief pause, she smiles and shifts so that her forehead is resting against his. "Okay."_

* * *

Hope you enjoyed! Review please!


	7. Part 7

Okey dokey. Here's the next installment of Rebekah's story. Hopefully y'all are still enjoying reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it! I really appreciate all the feedback, everyone, so please continue to leave reviews!

* * *

Part 7

She melts into him as he crushes his lips down on hers, relishing the feel of his heavily-muscled arms around her. Kissing him is safe, comfortable. With his arms enveloping her, it's almost as though she could hide forever from the world and its dangers. She twines her fingers in his hair and tears her lips away from his to kiss her way along his jaw and back, where he captures her lips with his again.

It's not like kissing Clint. Kissing Clint was exciting, and the feel of his hands on her made her feel like she was burning, made her lose control. It's different with Steve. She's still in control of herself when they're kissing. She enjoys it, retaining her independence from him and not losing herself in him. She also enjoys kissing him, of course. Lately, it's pretty much all she can think about. She hates it when he's away, when he's not there to hold her after a hard day. But she can still function when he's gone, and that's more than she can say for when she was with Clint.

When she and Clint were together, she'd lived in constant dread of the calls that came in the middle of the night and tore him from her side for days, weeks, sometimes even months at a time. Every day he was away from her was agony—not knowing exactly where he was or what sort of danger he was in. When he was gone, it was all she could do to get out of bed and take a shower, much less eat properly. She never said anything to him, of course; it wouldn't have changed anything, and she'd been terrified of saying the wrong thing and pushing him away. The thought of being without him always seemed to go hand-in-hand with thoughts of her death, as though losing him would kill her.

Obviously she'd been wrong on that front. Five years without Clint had taught her that. And now there's Steve. She loves being with him. Loves the way his hands can cover almost her entire back when they're splayed out across it like they are now. Loves how strong and beautiful his arms are—how strong and beautiful he is. Loves not having to worry about him as much when he's away—she knows he can take care of himself, even when Dr. Erskine's work doesn't. Loves knowing that if she were to ask him to stay with her, he would. Loves him… doesn't she? He's pretty much perfect—kind, courteous, loyal, protective, strong, innocent, chivalrous—everything she could possibly ask for and far more than she could ever dream of deserving.

So why, when he told her he loved her an hour ago, could she not manage to say it back? Evidently she responded well enough by slipping her arms around his neck and kissing him more enthusiastically than she ever had before, but the fact remains that as much as she wanted to, she couldn't make the words come out.

Oh, who is she kidding? She knows exactly why she can't say it back. She almost wishes he hadn't said it. Then she could go on pretending and not have to tell him all the things about her that would make him run for the hills. Well, one thing in particular.

"What's on your mind?" his voice breaks through her reverie, and she frowns as he pulls away to look at her.

She flashes him a sheepish smile and reaches up to softly trace the worried lines that have appeared in his forehead, tracing each one individually and then skimming her finger down the bridge of his nose and lightly touching his lips. "Just ruminating on the wonder that is your arms. That's all."

He grins bashfully and leans down to kiss her again, but they're jolted apart by a loud crashing sound from outside that causes the entire building to shake. Rebekah straightens and moves toward the window. "What was that?"

"Becky, don't—" he's cut off by a high-pitched whining sound followed almost immediately by another crash and the sound of shattering glass. Before she realizes what's happening, she's knocked forcefully to the ground as the building shudders violently. When she opens her eyes, she realizes she's lying against the opposite wall from where they were only moments earlier and Steve's shielding her with his body. She smiles weakly as he tells her, "Probably best to stay away from the window." He motions to the spot where she had just been standing. A pile of debris and broken glass lies innocently on the ground, only the dust cloud which has yet to settle disrupting the illusion that it's been there all the time. A burning smell drifts through the gaping hole where the window once was.

She exhales sharply. "Yeah. Sorry. Thanks for that, though."

"Are you alright?" He helps her up and holds her at arm's length to look her over.

She nods. "I'm fine. Are you okay?"

He grins and kisses her on the forehead. "Never been better. Now come on. We'd better get out of here."

"Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark is requesting that you meet him and Agents Barton and Romanoff in the basement conference room," JARVIS' voice startles them.

"On our way, JARVIS," Steve nods and crouches in front of Rebekah. "Hop on. We're taking the stairs and we need to get there quick." She giggles and climbs onto his back, and he takes off down the hall and into the stairwell. Sixty or so floors down, he comes to a stop and Rebekah lightly drops to the ground.

"Aren't you tired? That was like, sixty floors you just ran down with me on your back," she watches him carefully for signs of fatigue.

He smirks. "Nope. You weigh practically nothing and I've got Super Soldier Serum to prevent fatigue. No problem."

"Good answer." She slips her arms around his neck and kisses him lightly.

"Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark has asked me to pass on his orders to 'Quit kissing your girlfriend and get your ass in the conference room'," JARVIS startles them apart for the second time in a few minutes.

Steve scowls, irritated. "Yeah. Coming."

They step out of the stairwell and head down the hall to the conference room. It's in the dead center of the building, as far from windows and the outside world as is (super)humanly possible. Stark began fortifications in the basement specially for the Avengers Initiative after the "Loki Incident," and the rebuilding of Stark Tower had provided a perfect cover.

"Took you long enough. What, did you walk?" Stark snaps irritably.

"Ran, actually. Didn't think the elevators would be the best course of action," Steve retorts.

Rebekah rolls her eyes. "Quit squabbling, boys. Some serious shit just went down out there and you need to handle that instead of bitching at each other."

Steve backs down, adequately chastised, and shrugs at Stark. "She's right. What just happened out there and—" Another boom resonates above them, and the ground shakes under their feet. "We just need to get out there—now—and calm things down. Everyone suit up; we need to be topside in five."

The other three Avengers nod, and Stark says, "JARVIS?"

Four panels whir open in the walls to reveal the uniforms of Captain America, Hawkeye, Black Widow, and Iron Man. Steve takes Rebekah by the shoulders. "You stay down here and keep JARVIS and Miss Potts company. Put on a headset and wait for orders from me or Stark. In the meantime, call Fury and get us backup, tell him to get Banner and Thor here yesterday. Don't leave this basement for anything, understand?" She nods, and he presses a kiss into her forehead. "Good. I'll see you in a little bit."

"Be safe. See you soon." She smiles as he moves to retrieve his suit from the wall and disappears into the sleeping compartment next to it to change.

Rebekah takes a headset from Pepper and puts it on. Fury is her first call; he promises to have Banner and Thor in New York as soon as possible.

* * *

An hour later, Thor has arrived and the Avengers (almost all of them) are present and doing their best to stop the influx of bomb-like objects with which the city is being bombarded. They still don't know where they're from or what's going on; Fury's team is working determinedly on finding out what's going on. Pepper and Rebekah are watching the action happen on the numerous screens spread out across the wall, the tension making it all but impossible for them to speak.

Rebekah tries to focus on the red and blue streak that is Captain America, but she's unable to keep herself from spending as much time nervously watching Hawkeye's screen. As she's casting a quick glance at the other screens, something catches her eye, and she gasps out a soft, "No," before she bolts out of her seat and takes off up the stairs. Pepper is so caught off-guard by this that she barely has time to process what's going on before Rebekah is gone.

* * *

Like it? Don't like it? Is there something you'd like to see happen-something that you don't like and want to see fixed or a scene that you think will lighten the mood or anything-leave a review and let me know! Thanks for reading!


	8. Part 8

Part 8, for your perusal. A short chapter, but Part 9 should be coming either tomorrow or Monday, so don't worry! As always, hope you enjoy, and reviews are ALWAYS appreciated!

* * *

Part 8

Barton notices a flash of movement in front of Stark Tower and focuses in on it. "Shit. What are you doing, Becks?" he mutters to himself.

"What?" Rogers hears him over the communicator.

"Rebekah's on the street," Barton barks. He swears again as he notices a bomb heading in Rebekah's direction; only Rogers is close enough to get to her before it hits her, and he's only barely within range. "Rogers! She's got one incoming!" Without thinking, he looses an arrow which lodges itself in the wall of the building he's standing on and swinging down to the ground on the cord attached to the back of it. He lets go of the rope and rolls, wincing slightly as he lands on a shard of rock which pokes painfully into his side before he's up and running. "Becks! Move!"

She glances up at him, alarmed by the tone in his voice, but after only a portion of a second her gaze returns determinedly to whatever it is that's caught her attention. Barton sees Rogers approaching them at full speed, but keeps running, praying desperately that one of them will arrive in time. "Becky! You have to move!"

She stoops down to pick up a small lump that's half-buried in rubble just as Steve crashes into her, catching her up in his arms and diving into the adjacent parking structure. She screams and fights him, but he's too strong for her. Barton reaches the spot and sees a small child, no more than five years old, lying limply in the rubble. He realizes what's happened and scoops the child up just in time to dive into the parking structure just as the bomb hits, burying them in debris and rubble.


	9. Part 9

Alrighty. Here's Part 9 as promised. The longest yet, and hopefully ever. As always, I love reviews. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Part 9

_Rebekah hears Clint come in the door and hurries—waddles, really—at the tail end of the second trimester, walking is becoming awkward for her—to the front door to greet him. He sees her and his face lights up as she throws herself clumsily into his arms. "Welcome home. I missed you."_

_He kisses her hungrily. "I missed you, too. How are you and Jimmy feeling?" He places a hand on either side of her belly and leans down to kiss the bulge where the baby is growing. The morning sickness hasn't abated much in the past months, and although the doctor is concerned about it, all he'd been willing to do just yet was change her diet a few weeks ago; and if that doesn't help, he wants to hospitalize her and put her on an IV, an idea which Rebekah is staunchly opposed to. Today, though, she doesn't seem to be feeling overly nauseous, which Clint is pleased to see. _

_She grins. "Perfect, now. Two weeks is a long time to go without Daddy. Although if Daddy continues to call him Jimmy instead of Jack, we may ask him to stay away longer," she teases._

_He chuckles. "Well, I still have my doubts that it actually is a Jimmy—or a Jack. How are you so sure it's a boy?" He examines her belly closely, as though it will give him some kind of clue._

_She laughs. "I just know. I'm his mother. I know." She caresses his face tenderly and kisses him. "But don't worry. If it's a girl, she's Hailey Nicole. It's not a girl, though. I'm 99.999% positive."_

"_Hailey Nicole Barton. That's not bad," he returns the kiss, then brightens. "I got you something. I know you said you didn't need one, but I wanted you to have it anyways." He reaches into his pocket and produces a small velvet box. _

_She gasps as he lifts the lid to reveal a pear-cut diamond ring with a gold setting. The diamond has two smaller triangle-cut diamonds on either side which glitter even in the hall light. "It's gorgeous. It's really for me?"_

_He nods. "All yours, Becks."_

_She allows him to slide it onto her finger and gazes at it wonderingly as it sparkles on her hand. "Thank you."_

"_You're very welcome. Nothing's too good for my wife."_

_She giggles and kisses him again. "Don't say that. You'll spoil me."_

"_Good. You deserve to be spoiled after I made you have your wedding at City Hall." They'd gotten married a few days after they'd found out about the pregnancy with Natasha and a city clerk as their witnesses. _

"_I didn't mind," she smiles, slipping her arms around his waist._

"_You look like you've been feeling better," he comments._

"_Sure am. Wasn't sick at all yesterday or today," she beams, pulling him into the living room to sit on the couch. "How was your trip?"_

_He offers her a small half-smile. "Stressful." She nods and pushes him onto the floor in front of the couch, then shifts so that she's behind him. As she begins to massage him, he relaxes, slumping down and resting his head against her knee. "I swear, Becks. You have magic hands. You do this every time I get back from a trip and I'll be the one who's spoiled."_

_She chuckles. "You need to stay loose or one of these days your shoulders are gonna give out with all that archery you do."_

_He shakes his head. "You know I work out an hour and a half every day and train for two hours a day so that doesn't happen."_

_She sighs. "Even you can't last forever, Agent Hawkeye."_

"_Watch me," he teases, and she laughs. _

"_Oh, I intend to." She pauses for a moment as she feels a small cramp in her side._

"_You okay?" Clint studies her intently. _

"_I'm fine. Just those Braxton-Hicks thingies, I think." She smiles reassuringly at him, and kisses him on the forehead. "No big deal."_

* * *

_That night, Rebekah is jolted out of her sleep by a sharp pain that flashes through her abdomen. She sits up in the bed, disoriented, and waits for the room to come into focus before she turns her attention to the sheets under her, which feel wet. She puts a hand to her inner thigh and feels moisture, so she flips on the bedside light and lets out a horrified gasp when she finds blood coating her fingers. _

"_Becks? What'sa matter?" Clint sits up groggily. _

"_I'm bleeding," she manages after a second, although any other words are cut off by another blinding pain in her stomach. She moans, unable to help herself, and Clint is up in an instant. _

_He's changed into jeans and a t-shirt before the pain has subsided fully, and he lifts her in his arms and carries her to the front door, where he grabs his keys and locks the door behind them. He places her in the passenger seat of her truck and they're on the road just as another pain tears through her. She clutches the door handle, her knuckles white as she waits for the pain to subside. "What happened?" he asks worriedly as she straightens again, panting softly. _

_She shakes her head. "I don't know. I woke up and there was blood."_

"_Well, I'm sure you'll be fine," he reassures her, although his tone is less than convincing. _

_They're at the hospital within minutes, and he jumps out and carries her into the emergency room, then sets her in a wheelchair as he explains the situation to the nurse at the desk. He returns a moment later with a clipboard in his hand and a nurse close behind him. "I have to fill these forms out, but I'll be in with you in just a minute, alright Becks?"_

_She nods through clenched teeth as the nurse wheels her away. "Just hurry, cuz it—" she's cut off as the pain returns, but continues just before the swinging ER doors close behind her, "hurts."_

_Clint hurriedly fills out the forms, although he isn't sure exactly what he's been putting in the blanks. As soon as he's returned the clipboard, he bursts through the doors and locates Rebekah lying on a gurney within a matter of seconds. He runs to her side and takes her hand, which she nearly crushes as the pain burns through her again. When she looks up at him, he can see how much pain she's in, but he doesn't mention it, instead reassuring her, "You're gonna be okay. They'll figure out what's wrong. I promise."_

_She nods, although she's still slightly panicked. A doctor comes in and introduces himself, though neither Rebekah nor Clint can remember his name. After only a minute's inspection, the doctor turns to the nurse and mutters a few hurried syllables. She nods and helps him push the gurney down the hall. Clint keeps up, clutching a railing in one hand and Rebekah's hand in the other. She's so pale. How much blood has she lost? The doctor pulls the gurney into an operating room and turns to stop Clint. "I'm sorry, son. You can't be in here. Just wait out here and I'll let you know what's happening as soon as I can."_

* * *

_Rebekah is only dimly aware of what's going on once the morphine is administered; colors and faint noises flash in and out of her awareness, intermixed with patches of blackness that vary in length._

* * *

"_Mr. Barton?" Clint leaps to his feet as the doctor steps out of the operating room. "The good news is your wife is going to be alright; she'll recover with a few days' rest and shouldn't have any trouble getting pregnant again should you decide to try for another child."_

_Clint's shoulders sag with a relief for a moment, but then he straightens, almost afraid to ask. "And… the baby?"_

_The doctor purses his lips before he lowers his gaze and shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Barton. There was nothing we could do. He was gone before she got here. We believe the Hyperemesis Gravidarum—the exaggerated morning sickness—caused malnutrition in the fetus that it just couldn't recover from. Your wife fought for him, though. Her body did everything it possibly could to hold onto him. There's nothing you or she could have done, either. Hyperemesis Gravidarum is more common in first-time mothers, and hers was particularly severe. When she wakes up, you'll need to reassure her that the miscarriage isn't her fault."_

_Clint stands, unmoving, stunned. After a minute or so, he manages, "Him?"_

_The doctor nods. "It was a boy."_

_Clint sinks to the ground, a dull, throbbing ache taking over all of his senses, and he sits there, unable to move or speak or even breathe, for what seems like an eternity. Eventually, he stands. "Where is she?" _

"_In recovery," the doctor points down the hall and names a room. _

_Clint nods and stumbles to the room, where he sinks into the chair beside the sleeping Rebekah's bed and takes her hand in his before he lays his head down on the blankets, clinging to her for dear life. _

* * *

Sad one, I know. But it gets better, I promise. Now go forth and review! Part 10 coming soon!


	10. Part 10

Okey dokey. Part 10. Hope you all enjoy and please please please continue to review, cuz the next part isn't happening until there's at least 50 reviews! So there's that. Enjoy!

* * *

Part 10

When Rebekah comes to, she's still surrounded by darkness and her breathing catches in her throat as panic threatens to overwhelm her. A hand is gently placed on her arm, and the familiarity of the touch makes her relax. "Clint?"

"It's me."

"The boy?"

He lowers his gaze and shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Becks. He got a lot of rock dropped on him."

She begins to sit up but is greeted by a wave of dizziness, and allows Clint to push her back down. "No. He was… he was still… alive… he was. I saw him." Her breath catches as a desperate sob pushes its way out.

She allows Clint to pull her close and buries her face in his shoulder as she struggles for control. He strokes her hair softly. "I'm so sorry, Becks. You did everything you could. It's not your fault."

As the familiarity of the words hit her, she breaks down sobbing. She's heard those exact words before. After a long time, she regains her composure and straightens. Clint releases her immediately, and she closes her eyes against the wooziness briefly before looking around. "Where… are we?" She starts as she notices Steve standing back a few yards and watching her carefully.

He approaches slowly and replies, "What used to be a parking garage. It's been bombed all to hell, though. We haven't been able to find a way out, and we seem to be buried under enough debris that we can't get any sort of signal on our communicators. Are you alright?"

She nods uncertainly, casting a glance at the small lump lying against one of the collapsed walls of the parking garage. "I am." She pauses, then says, "You shouldn't have come after me."

Steve's face darkens. "You shouldn't have been outside. I specifically told you not to leave the basement for anything!"

She flinches at the tone of his voice and says quietly, "I couldn't leave him." Her voice is more of a plea than a statement, and it's aimed more at Clint than at Steve.

Clint nods. "I know." He brushes the hair back from her face, and when he pulls his hand away, it's sticky with blood. "I need to clean this up," he mutters to Steve.

Steve kneels beside Rebekah as Clint dabs at her temple, sopping up blood with a strip torn from the hem of her shirt. "Listen, Becky, I'm sorry. I was just… you really scared me, running around like that. I don't know what I would have done if anything had happened to you."

She nods. "It's fine, Steve." She winces as Clint presses on a particularly tender spot on her head.

They're silent as Clint finishes with her head; as soon as he moves away, Rebekah scoots over to the little boy and pulls him into her arms. Neither of the men move, and after a long time, she sets him back down and draws her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. "I really thought I could save him…" she sets her chin down on her knees and closes her eyes.

After a long pause, Steve sits down beside her. "You tried, Becky."

She shakes her head. "Not hard enough. Never hard enough, apparently."

Steve frowns at her. "What do you mean?"

She shakes her head again. "Nothing." His look turns skeptical, and she purses her lips. "Not now."

Steve flashes Clint a questioning look, and Clint shrugs. "If she doesn't wanna tell you, I'm not gonna go against her."

"I'm gonna go look for a way out of here," Steve stands and moves away.

Clint watches as Rebekah sits silently for awhile; finally, she comments softly, "He's about the same age, isn't he?"

Clint nods, unable to speak. She would have been such a good mother. She doesn't say anything else, and eventually, he says, "I'll go help Rogers."

She nods and examines him as he moves away. After an hour or so, Steve gives up with an angry snarl and plops tiredly down beside Rebekah. She scoots over and dutifully reaches out to begin massaging his shoulders, but he catches her arm and pulls her into his arms. She leans against him awkwardly and watches as Clint continues to search the walls of rock for enough of a crack to start digging. She can't fully relax with him here. Cuddling with Steve in front of Clint seems almost impossible to her; instead, she sits stiffly with Steve's arms around her and doesn't protest when he rests his head on top of hers.

After a while, Clint calls, "I think I found a weak spot!"

Steve gives Rebekah a quick squeeze before he stands up and joins Clint to inspect a weak spot in the rocks. Within ten minutes, they've got enough cleared out of it that the communicators have regained some spotty reception. "Stark? Stark, can you hear me?" Steve enunciates, and after a moment, he says, "There was a parking garage on 48th Street. We're buried under it. We've been digging on the east wall, but we could use some help."

No more than five minutes later, Steve and Clint both back away from the wall; Steve lifts Rebekah up and carries her as far away from the east wall as possible, then sets her down and kneels over her with his shield held up facing the spot where he and Clint have been working. Clint kneels down beside them and braces himself with a quick comforting glance at Rebekah. Moments after, a loud crash accompanies an explosion of rock and debris as a hole appears in the east wall. Stark's Iron Man mask pokes in. "Okay, fellas, we've got the mess cleaned up. You can come out of hiding now."


	11. Part 11

Okay, here's Part 11, which may be the last part for a few weeks, and I think will be one of the last parts to the story, so I'm hoping that when I come back, there will be lots and lots of reviews for me to read! Haha. But seriously. As always, I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!

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Part 11

Rebekah leans against the doorpost and watches as Steve works over his third punching bag for the day. She can tell how many he's been through today by the remains of the other two bags on the ground. She takes a deep breath before clearing her throat and taking a few steps forward. Steve looks up and grins as he moves over to give her a kiss. "Hey. How are you doing?" He grabs her hand and pulls her back towards the boxing ring in the center of the room.

She shrugs up at him. "I'm fine. How are you?"

He stops, his grip on her hand stopping her short and pulling her around to face him. "Becky. You don't have to do that. What's going on with you? You've been quieter than usual. Withdrawn. Sometimes I feel like you'd rather be somewhere else when we're together. Ever since last month."

He's right. She's been in a funk ever since the attack on New York, and she can't exactly figure out why, other than the fact that the death of the little boy had dredged up a surfeit of painful memories. Every time she's around him, she's acutely aware of the history that she shares with Clint and the full disclosure that she doesn't share with Steve. It's caused so much anxiety on her part that she can barely enjoy spending time with Steve lately. That's why she came today. He shouldn't have to deal with her past issues, however inadvertently she subjects him to them. She needs time on her own to figure out what the hell she's doing with her life, because right now, she's floundering and she can't figure out how to start swimming again. She can't ask him to wait around for her to decide whether or not she can even be in a relationship now—or ever. Especially not without his knowing the truth. She hasn't been honest with him, and she can't continue to be so unfair to him. He's far too good to deserve that.

She smiles softly. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little preoccupied. But this is where I need to be right now." He leans down to kiss her, and she allows him to slip his arms around her before the panic sets in again and she pushes him away. He looks hurt, and she pushes her hair out of her face before pulling him over to a nearby bench and sitting down on it. He sits beside her and watches her carefully as she begins to speak.

"I met Clint seven years ago. I was twenty-one. I was finishing up my first year of grad school. Eight months later, we moved in together. Three months later… I got pregnant." She pauses, struggling with the decision to tell him about the marriage. It had been a huge secret even when it had first happened; five years after the fact, she didn't know if it still was—although that wasn't really the issue. The issue was whether she could muster up the courage to tell him about it now. "It was a boy. He would have been almost six by now. I… miscarried in the sixth month. The baby… he was malnourished because I suffered from exaggerated morning sickness—they call it Hyperemesis Gravidarum—that kept me vomiting all the way through mid-afternoon pretty much the entire time I was pregnant. The doctors let us see him, after we lost him. He was already… so perfect. They wanted us to give him a name—they do that after a miscarriage to facilitate bonding between the baby and the parents—so we called him James Harold Barton, after our fathers." She trails off, and Steve waits silently for her to continue, which eventually she does. "Anyways, after we lost him, it wasn't the same between us. We couldn't talk to each other. He started working more and longer. One day, he went to work and he just… didn't come back. I didn't see him again until I was invited to join Jane and Dr. Banner at SHIELD."

Steve sits, unmoving, stunned. "And… do you still… have feelings for him?" he finally chokes out after minutes have passed.

She shakes her head. "I don't know. I mean, I definitely missed him after he left. Being around him again… it brings up a lot of old feelings—good and bad. And being around you… it makes it harder to figure out exactly what I'm feeling. After last month, with the little boy… It drudged up a lot of bad memories, too. And then I started to panic about us because I hadn't told you everything, and then I started to panic more because I didn't know how you would react... I'm sorry I didn't tell you all this sooner, Steve. I was just afraid you wouldn't want me after you heard about… my past. And it took me far too long to realize how very much I don't deserve you. I hid so much from you, and… I'm sorry." She swipes at her eyes and stands quickly. "I have to go. I'm sorry, Steve. You're a wonderful guy; I wish I could have deserved you."

She turns to leave but is stopped in her tracks by Steve's voice. "Wait. Don't go." He stands and crosses the room in a few long strides and takes hold of her shoulders. "Everyone has a past. Yours is a little more… turbulent than some. It would have been wrong of me to expect you to tell me everything when we've only known each other for six months. You're so brave for being willing to tell me all of this. It doesn't matter what your past is, Becky. I love you for who you are now."

Rebekah gapes at him for a moment before she allows him to pull her into his arms for a brief moment before the panic forces her to push away again. "But I… No. There's one more thing, Steve. After we found out I was pregnant, Clint and I… we got married." She covers her face with her hands. "Everything else I told you… that's what I was the most afraid of letting you know."

She takes a few deep breaths before she hears Steve ask, "You're… divorced?"

Her breaths become shorter and more gasping as she struggles to answer. "There are some things I still need to sort out with Clint before I tell you any more. I have to go. I'm sorry. You have no idea how sorry. I should never have let it get this far without being honest with you." She turns on her heel and marches out of the room resolutely. As she passes through the door, she turns just in time to see Steve send his current punching bag flying across the room. She flinches and turns back around just as she runs smack into—Clint, of course. The only person who could possibly make her day worse.

"Hey, Becks. I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd check on the Captain—"

She cuts him off. "How much did you hear?"

After a long pause, he lowers his gaze. "I heard plenty. What things do you have to sort out with me, Becks?"

She bites her lip. "Can we not talk about it here?" When he nods, she heads out the door, Clint close behind. "Gino's. I'll meet you there." Before he can respond, she's flagged down a taxi and climbed into the backseat. She gives the driver the address and as the car pulls away from the curb, she leans against the window and closes her eyes.


	12. Part 12

Hello, all you lovely people! I'm sorry it's been so long, but here's the next installment! As always, I hope you all enjoy and review!

* * *

Part 12

_Rebekah wakes up screaming._

_Clint sits up and pulls her into his lap, stroking her hair softly and murmuring, "It's okay, Becks. It's not real. You're safe." She sobs into his shirt and eventually falls back asleep until his alarm goes off and she feels the bed move as he gets up to go to work. He's going on a mission today, he says. Off to some distant country to fight crime and protect national secrets with Agent Romanoff, too busy to even call and check on her like he used to. Before… She stops the thought as it begins to form. It's bad enough that she can barely sleep anymore because when she does it invades her dreams. When she's awake she's consumed with guilt all the time, despite the fact that she doesn't allow herself to think about it. _

_Her due date would have been today. She burrows back down under the blankets and buries her face under a pillow, pretending like today won't be the worst day of her life. She ticks off fifteen minutes in her head, then slips out of bed and pulls on a robe. She throws half of a bagel into the toaster and spreads cream cheese on it when it pops back out, now a perfect golden brown. She sets the bagel on a plate and pours a cup of coffee for Clint, who takes it and downs the coffee and bagel before giving her a kiss and heading out the door. _

_Today's kiss is different—not quite so perfunctory and obligatory in feeling as the kisses from the past couple of months have been, but softer and perhaps even more passionate, and she allows herself to hope for a moment that he'll have another kiss like that for her when he returns. She brushes the thought away quickly, though. It's almost the least of her worries, the lack of the closeness that they used to share._

_Surely, when he gets back, they'll be able to get past this together. All the pain that passes between them whenever they exchange a look or brush hands will decrease. And someday, they'll begin to feel that they can be a family again. As soon as he gets back. _

* * *

_But he doesn't come back. At first it's a minute-long call saying that he has to leave on another mission immediately and he's sorry he can't make it back. And then, nothing. No calls. No letters. No emails. The only thing that makes her sure he's alive is the fact that every month, money gets put into her bank account. They'd never opened a joint account; he hadn't wanted too many people to find out about the marriage for fear that someone might one day use her to get to him. The marriage certificate is in a safety deposit box at a high-security overseas bank, SHIELD pulled some strings to get all records of the marriage buried in the wrong department under the wrong names, and the apartment is still in his name. _

_Clint never comes back, and eventually, Rebekah gets a job and goes back to school. _

_She still wakes up screaming every night. _

* * *

_A year after the day Clint left, Rebekah gets a call from Natasha Romanoff, asking if she'd like to get coffee. Rebekah agrees and meets her an hour later at a nearby coffeehouse. They claim a table and order their drinks, then sit uncomfortably across from each other for a minute before Natasha begins. "I was so sorry to hear about the baby. Clint was devastated. I can't imagine what you must have gone through."_

_Rebekah nods. "It was tough. How's Clint been?" _

_Natasha shakes her head. "Not the same. He's been completely immersed in his work lately. Quieter than usual. More reckless in the field—with himself, not others, of course. He puts himself in harm's way more frequently. I'll be honest, Rebekah. I'm worried about him."_

_Rebekah's knuckles are white at the end of Natasha's reply. "But he's safe and healthy?"_

"_Physically. He just got out of the infirmary—a few broken ribs and bad shoulders. They were really killing him on our last mission. He puts too much pressure on them. But the doc just gave him a clean bill of health."_

"_I told him not to overwork his shoulders. I was worried about that," Rebekah nods. As the waiter delivers their drinks, both Rebekah and Natasha turn to smile at him, and he hesitates, momentarily dazed, before he sets their coffee down on the table. They sip their coffee quietly for a moment, and then Rebekah clears her throat. "So… Why did you really call me?"_

_Natasha frowns. "I wanted to see how you were doing."_

_Rebekah shakes her head. "It's been over a year. If you really wanted to check up on me, you would have called a lot sooner. And it's not like you ever volunteered to spend time with me unless Clint asked you to. I know you're used to people believing everything you tell them, but I know he sent you. What does he want?"_

_Natasha lets out her breath in a loud whoosh and purses her lips. "He wanted me to see how you're doing. Ask what you've been up to."_

_Rebekah shrugs. "I went back to school; I'm finishing up my Master's—I'll be done by the end of the year and then I'll start on my Ph.D. I've been working as an assistant at a scientific research facility on days I don't have classes, but I'm hoping once I finish my degree I can actually get into the lab and do some work on my own."_

_Natasha nods. "Clint told me a little bit about the fields you were looking into. Once you're finished with your schooling get in touch with me. I know somewhere that might have a position for a highly-qualified individual such as yourself. It'd probably require you relocating, though."_

"_I've got no ties here," Rebekah smiles sadly. "I'd really appreciate it if you could give me a recommendation. Although it'll probably be a few years before I'll finish school."_

_Natasha grins. "There's no rush. They're always looking for good minds."_

_Rebekah smirks. "Well, I'm honored that you consider me qualified… once I finish my degree." Natasha chuckles, then falls silent. Rebekah runs a hand through her hair. "That's not all he wanted, is it?"_

_Natasha shakes her head and reaches into her bag. She pulls out a manila envelope and slides it across the table. She takes a deep breath and begins, "He says that it's been a year since he left. It's officially abandonment, and you can file for divorce—you can do it all without him, and then you can move on. He says he's sorry. And he wanted me to give you this." She pulls out another envelope—this one letter-sized—and places it on top of the manila envelope. She stands slowly. "I'm sorry, Rebekah." She pulls a couple of bills from her pocket and sets them on the table before slipping out the door. _

"_Natasha!" Rebekah chokes the name out. Natasha catches the door and turns expectantly. Rebekah takes a few strangled breaths. "Tell him… Tell him I miss him."_

_Natasha nods and moves outside, then disappears into a car with tinted windows. Just before the car door shuts, Rebekah catches a glimpse of messy dark-blond hair and a pair of sunglasses that she's fished out from between the couch cushions many times before. She leaps to her feet and gasps Clint's name as the car pulls away. As it turns onto the street, she sinks back into her chair and slides the papers out of the manila envelope. Their marriage license. Divorce papers. She allows the papers to fall to the table and stares at them blankly for what seems like an eternity. _

_After half an hour, the waiter approaches the table and places a mug on the table. "Rough day?" She nods slowly, and he slides the cup in front of her. "On the house, sweetheart."_

_She blinks slowly and mumbles a "Thank you," as he retreats, then returns to staring at the papers desolately. _

_The coffee remains untouched. _

* * *

Thanks for reading! Now please, for the love of Norse demigods and Great Green Rage Monsters, go and review!


	13. Part 13

So here's the next part! Thank you all for your patience! It's finally starting to look up! Once again, enjoy and review!

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Part 13

Rebekah stirs her Coke with the striped straw and sips it lightly before she returns to stirring it. Clint sits quietly across from her, waiting for her to say her piece. Finally, she straightens and takes a deep breath. He doesn't move. Just as she's about to speak, the waiter approaches them, and Rebekah purses her lips and returns to stirring her drink. Clint quietly orders a large pizza—half Hawaiian and half Supreme—and an order of breadsticks for them, then turns back to Rebekah, whose nerve seems to have deserted her once again.

The pizza comes, and she's finished her first slice of pizza and is picking up the pineapple that jumped ship and dropping it onto the next slice when she suddenly drops her hands and asks, "Were you there?"

"When?"

"On the day when Natasha gave me… the divorce papers," she replies before taking a deep breath. "Were you… there?"

He stares down at his pizza for a couple of minutes before he finally sighs, "Yeah. I was there."

She closes her eyes and swallows shakily. "Why… Why didn't you… I would have just liked to have seen you. Heard it from you, that you didn't want… to be with me anymore."

He runs a hand through his hair. "I… don't you remember the letter? That I wrote you?"

She's silent for a long while. "I… I didn't read it. I didn't even open the envelope." She reaches into her purse and retrieves a slightly wrinkled letter-sized envelope. She sets it on the table. "I couldn't. I knew what it would say. I just felt like… if I read your goodbye, it would make it real, and permanent. And I couldn't face that."

Clint frowns. "Signing the papers? That didn't make it real and permanent?" She drops her head, then reaches back into her purse and pulls out a large manila envelope. She slides it across the table, and he opens it and pulls the papers out of it—their marriage license. Still-blank divorce papers. He lets his breath out in a whoosh. "You never signed the papers? We're… still married?"

She nods slowly. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't. At first I just didn't want to—I kept hoping you'd come back. And then every time I tried to I felt like I was gonna throw up and I couldn't get past it."

He's silent, processing the information, for a long time. Eventually, he manages, "And now?"

She covers her face with her hands. "I don't know. I just wanted you to… know. And possibly decide what to do." She stands abruptly. "I'm gonna go. You just… think on that. And tell me what you want to do about it." She drops a couple of bills onto the table and heads for the door.

"Becks, wait!" Clint jumps to his feet and grabs her arm. "I don't want to do anything about it. This," he shakes the papers in his hand, "Is the best thing I've ever heard. I don't want to be divorced from you. I love you. I never stopped. I didn't have Natasha give you the papers so that I could be free of you. I just wanted you to have the option. I didn't want you to spend the rest of your life waiting for me to come back to you when I didn't know if I ever could. Please. Don't go." He crushes his mouth down on hers and wraps his arms around her, and this time, she doesn't turn away.


	14. Part 14

Hey, guys! I want to sincerely thank everyone who has read and reviewed thus far-it really does mean alot to me. Two, maybe three more chapters, and then this story is over. I'm already working on an idea for my next story, so stay tuned for that-I may need opinions from y'all! Okay, that's it, so thanks again, and I'll let you all get reading! Please continue to review! Enjoy!

* * *

Part 14

It's been three months since she requested the transfer, two months since it was approved, and one month since she actually moved. It took longer than she had expected for her request to go through, although she suspects Clint may have had something to do with that. He's got plenty of pull at SHIELD, and from what Natasha had said, he was using just about all of it to keep her transfer request tied up everywhere he could. Eventually though, Agent Romanoff stepped in—at Rebekah's request—and used her pull to negate Agent Barton's.

Now she's tucked away in the deserts of Southern California, mixing chemicals and testing prototypes and doing everything she can to stay inside the air-conditioned lab. Rebekah hates the desert. Hates the heat. Hates the deadness. Hates how empty it is. Hates herself. She's barely seen Clint since the day she told him they were still married. After the kiss, she had run away, which she's ashamed to admit that she's getting good at, locked herself in her room, and been unable to stop crying for days, practically. The day she'd stopped crying, she'd requested a transfer. Away from the Avengers. Away from Steve. Away from Clint. Away from all of the mistakes she'd made with both of them.

She clocks out and slings her purse over her shoulder as she steps outside and is hit with a blast of heat. It's half past seven and just beginning to cool, which means it's still about eighty-five degrees. She slips on her sunglasses and hustles to her new car, a white Nissan X-Terra that she loves, rolling down the windows as she waits for the AC to kick in. She drives home, stopping only to pick up a quick dinner of mediocre Chinese food—a staple in this part of the country, it seems. She lets herself into her apartment and sinks down onto the couch, but leaps to her feet again when she realizes it's already occupied.

He smirks. "Sorry."

"No, you're not. Jesus," she snaps irritably, running a hand through her hair. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugs. "I have a couple of days off. I just thought I'd come see how you were liking sunny Southern California."

She shakes her head, but replies, "Fine. I like it fine."

"Good." He scoots a little closer and motions for her to sit down. "Becks, I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry. Have your dinner," he motions to the takeout box on the coffee table. She shakes her head, and he scoots forward again, this time close enough to take her hand, which he does. She allows him to twine his fingers with hers, each scar and callus on his hand every bit as familiar to her as it ever has been, although she can also feel a few new ones. His hands are warm, rough, strong, comforting, gentle, and ultimately, safe. They're everything that's home to her, and it's their security that convinces her to let the contact go on uninterrupted.

Encouraged when she doesn't pull away, he reaches up to softly caress her cheek, then lightly trace the outline of her lips with his finger. Before she can stop herself, her lips press a soft kiss against his finger, and in response, he slips his hand behind her head and pulls her in for a kiss. Their lips only brush against each other at first, the contact feather-light. As he leans in again, she murmurs, "Clint," in a warning tone, but as soon as he slips his arms around her and kisses her again, the rest of what she was going to say fades into a contented sigh. She wraps her arms around him and tangles her fingers in his hair, and he gently presses his tongue against her lips, which part to let him in. Instinct takes over as he pulls her into his lap and she shifts one leg to his other side so that she's straddling him.

As he pulls her down so that she's laying on top of him, a small warning flag goes up in the back of her mind, although she's too immersed in how incredible it is to be kissing him again that she barely notices it. When his hands slip under her shirt and begin to explore every inch of skin they can reach, the flag becomes all but invisible to her as she revels in the familiar feeling of his warm, rough hands on her skin. However, when he slips a hand under her bra, the flag becomes a siren and she jerks away from him, gasping. He sits up, pulling her with him, and brushes her hair out of her eyes with a frown. "Something wrong?"

She takes a few calming breaths and shakes her head. "Clint, we can't—you can't just—you… You seem to think that we can just pick up where we were before everything went wrong, and we can't. Things have changed since then, and I can't just jump right back into this… whatever it is. We spent five years apart, and for me, at least, that's a long time. We don't know if so much has changed that we won't work anymore."

He doesn't say anything at first, but after a minute, he nods decisively. "You're right. I made you get used to me not being around, and I can't expect you to just jump back into being with me again. I'm sorry." He runs his fingers through her hair, then says, "Will you go on a date with me?"

She flashes him a quizzical look. "What?"

"Tomorrow night. We'll get dressed up. We'll have dinner. Just talk. You can get dessert," he teases.

A smile tugs at one corner of her mouth, and she nods. "Okay. We'll go on a date. But we do have to clear one thing up."

He watches her expectantly. "And what's that?"

"Just because you buy me dessert doesn't mean you get laid," she grins.

He chuckles. "Well, I can still hope." He stands. "I'll pick you up at seven."

She follows him to the door and, for the first time in a long time, she smiles, really smiles, at him as he heads out into the dark. "Don't be late!" she can't resist calling after him.

He turns and waves. "I wouldn't dare."

She shuts the door and leans against it, unable to rid her face of the smile that adorns it. As she turns to return to her Chinese food, she's startled by a knock on the door. She opens it and finds him standing resolutely on the doormat. "I finally threw away that _Star Trek_ shirt you hate—the seam on the left side came out, and it started to look more like a cape than a t-shirt. I messed up my knee two years ago and now there's a plate and two screws in it. I've also dislocated my right shoulder twice, and every couple of months it gets sore no matter how much Icy Hot I put on it. I grew out my hair, but then I cut it again because it made me look like a serial killer. I finally read _Wuthering Heights_, and you were right. It sucked. _Gone With the Wind, _on the other hand, was actually pretty good. For a month and a half right after I left, I tried to teach myself to play the guitar, but the only song I can play is "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown." And then I took up painting and succeeded in filling a lot of canvasses with a lot of meaningless geometric shapes in various colors. I don't do either of those things anymore. I started watching _Doctor Who_, and I don't care what you think, I still don't like it. I bought "The Wedding Singer" and "Must Love Dogs," and every time I started missing you, I would watch them and imagine you were sitting next to me and trying to get me to like them, and I probably shouldn't admit this to you, but they're not half bad. I haven't eaten sushi since we were together because somehow it never tasted as good when you weren't there with me. And I've done some serious soul searching and realized that besides wishing I could go back in time and not have left you, I don't think my life will ever be complete again if I can't fix things with you, but if you're happy without me, then so be it. I'm the one that messed up, and that's on me."

She gapes at him for a minute, and before she can speak, he quickly adds, "But I'd really prefer it if you'd be willing to give me another chance, despite all my failings."

She takes a deep breath. "Wow. Okay. Well over the last five years, I've… stopped watching _Doctor Who_. I bought "Pulp Fiction"… and I still hate it. I cut all my hair off into a twenties-looking bob about three years ago, and since then have zealously guarded it against any and all hair stylists who try to cut off more than an inch when I go in to get it trimmed. I've invested hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars in comedy CDs, DVDs, and tickets to shows in a somewhat fruitless bid to cheer myself up on bad days. I finally gave up on trying to finish _Anna Karenina_, and instead have read every novel by the Brontes I could find. Don't worry, I still can't stand _Wuthering Heights_. I took singing lessons, and I'm actually pretty damn good. I haven't done any soul searching, but if it's my forgiveness you're looking for, I can tell you right now that you've always had it." She pauses to let that sink in, then allows a mischievous gleam to flicker in her eyes as she finishes with, "And… I bought… one of those _Star Trek_ shirts."

Clint smiles. He can't help it. He lets out a slight chuckle before he grabs her hand and kisses it lightly. "I'm so glad we've got all our catching up out of the way. I'll see you tomorrow at seven."


	15. Part 15

I KNOW IT'S BEEN TOO LONG SINCE I LAST POSTED but here's the next part of the story-albeit a short one, but I'm already working on a new story. I need y'all's opinions, though. I'm currently working on a Criminal Minds fic, but for my Avengers friends, I've got two ideas: a sequel to Clint and Rebekah's story, of which part one (this story) has only one chapter left. The other thought is this: I have a matchup in my mind for Steve, because despite the fact that he's not Mr. Right for Rebekah, he is Mr. Perfect in every other respect, and I would like to give him a happy ending. So let me know what you think! As always, please review, and I hope you enjoy!

P.S. This part is a bit of a shout-out to the very correct WolfDarkfur who said, "She really needs to sort things out with Steve now..." It's a bit of a hastily written chapter, and while it doesn't really go into a lot of detail about the rebuilding of Steve and Rebekah's friendship, I just wanted to show that they'll someday be friends again. So there's that.

And now, without further ado...

* * *

Part 15

_Rebekah fidgets as the phone rings. Finally, she hears a voice on the other end. "Hello?" She tries to respond, but her voice catches in her throat. "Hello?" the voice repeats._

_Finally, she chokes out, "Steve?"_

"_Who is this?"_

_She clears her throat. "It's um, it's Rebekah."_

"_Oh. Hi, Becky. How are you?"_

"_I'm… I'm okay." She takes a deep breath. "Look, my transfer request finally went through and I'm gonna be moving in a week. I just wondered if… if you'd mind having coffee with me before I go?"_

_A pause, then, "Sure. When?"_

_When Rebekah arrives at the coffee shop, Steve's already there. He's claimed a table in the corner of the shop and is nursing a cup of plain black coffee. She hurries back to the table and takes a seat. "Hi. I'm really sorry; I didn't realize I was so late."_

_He shakes his head. "You're not late, I just got here early."_

"_Oh." Rebekah glances up at the waiter and orders a latte. _

_After an awkward pause, Steve asks, "So… What's going on?"_

_She purses her lips before she begins. "I just… didn't want to leave with things between us… being what they are."_

_He nods. "I see… So then… what?" _

"_I'm sorry for the way I treated you, Steve. I wasn't honest with you, and that was wrong of me. I should have told you about my history with Clint, and more than anything, I should have been honest with you about being married. I know we can't be what we were—I'm not ready to be in a relationship, and you deserve to be with someone who's ready to commit to being everything that you need and should have. I love spending time with you. I love talking to you. And after what I did to you, I don't expect you to be chomping at the bit to be my best friend or anything, but I hope that someday we can be friends again. That would mean a lot to me." She bites her lip and slumps back in her chair, out of words. _

_After a long silence, Steve reaches over and places one of his hands on hers. "I'd like that."_

_She looks up to see his full lips arranged in what she's fairly certain is the kindest smile she's ever seen, and she can't help smiling back. "Good. That's… really good." Her eyes take on a mischievous gleam as she continues, "Because I need help moving."_

_He chuckles. "You know I'm there, Becky."_

_She smiles again. How on earth did this perfect man end up sitting here with her? It's almost inconceivable to her that he would still be willing to sit across from her and be her friend after everything she's put him through. _

_But she's glad he's there. _


	16. Part 16

Okay, so here's the last chapter. This is a landmark for me, folks. I've never completed a story before. Like, ever. Thank you all so much for sticking with me and for sticking with Clint and Rebekah—we all appreciate it, I'm sure. Thank you also for all the awesome reviews—they were most helpful, truly! You all rock!

* * *

Part 16

He arrives at a quarter to seven. She keeps him waiting in the living room until a quarter after seven. They have dinner at a nice place—she orders rack of lamb for dinner and crème brulee for dessert. After dinner, he takes her home, where they sit in the car for awhile, talking. He reaches over to take her hand as he asks, "Did you like your dinner?"

She grins. "Sure did. I wish you would have let me pay for my half."

"No, you don't," he chuckles. "This is a date. You've always been traditional as far as the check goes."

She shakes her head. "Tradition's got nothing to do with it. When we were dating before, I was a broke grad student. I couldn't afford to go Dutch."

"And I was nice enough to catch the checks," he prompts.

"And you were nice enough to catch the checks," she agrees. "And now, of course, you're trying to get back in my good graces so you can… you know. Spend the night," she casts a suggestive look his way, "So you had to catch the check or there's no chance of it whatsoever."

He laughs. "Well, of course." He releases her hand to slip an arm around her shoulder and presses a kiss into her temple. "This is nice. I was afraid it would be awkward. Like awkward awkward. Like first date awkward, you know?"

She shudders in mock horror. "That would have been ghastly. I was trying not to freak out about it, but I'm glad to know that you were at least somewhat nervous about it."

They get out of the car and head up the stairs, stopping at the front door. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and bends down to look her in the eye. "Listen. I have to go back to DC tomorrow. But will you come with me to the airport? We can stop for lunch-slash-date number two," he offers.

"Two dates in two days?" She raises her eyebrows. "People will say we're in love," she remarks wryly.

Unthinkingly, he leans in and kisses her softly. "I'd be okay with that."

She smiles softly. "Sure. I'll take you to the airport tomorrow."

"Thanks. I'll come by at eleven thirty." He puts a hand on her cheek and kisses her again before he turns to go.

She watches him for a moment and impulsively calls, "Clint!" He turns and takes a few steps back towards her, and she slips her arms around his neck and stands up on her tiptoes to lean her forehead against his. "Of course, if you stayed here tonight, I might make French Toast in the morning. So there's that."

"There is that," he nods. "Are you sure?" he smirks. "People might talk."

"Like you give a shit," she shrugs as she grabs his hand and leads him inside. "Anyways, we're married. There's nothing scandalous about you spending the night with me." As soon as the door is closed behind them, he puts his arms around her from behind and begins kissing her neck. As his hands begin to roam, she lets out a sigh that turns into a moan when he catches her earlobe between his teeth and tugs gently.

He stops and spins her around to face him. As he begins working his way down the line of buttons on her shirt, he asks, "So I just did all the right things, huh? Everything I had to do to make myself irresistible and get the good lovin'?"

She cocks an eyebrow and pulls his shirt off, then trails a finger down the center of his chest. "Well, I don't know about the good lovin', but you'll probably get some."

"Probably?" He draws back to frown at her.

She grins. "Are you gonna stop gloating?"

He chuckles, a low, throaty growl, and pushes her blouse back off her shoulders, trapping her arms behind her. "Never."

She kisses him hungrily. "Good answer." Her shirt drops to the ground, and with a wicked smile, he tosses her over his shoulder and carries her, laughing, back to the bedroom.

* * *

Clint's internal clock wakes him before dawn. He rolls out of bed, takes a quick shower, and gets dressed before heading out to the kitchen, where he makes scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon, wolfs down half, and puts the rest on a plate which he carries back into the bedroom. He kneels beside the bed and strokes Rebekah's hair softly until her eyes flutter open. She smiles groggily at him, and he kisses her lightly on the tip of her nose. "Morning."

She stretches and groans out a, "Morninmmmph."

He chuckles. "I made you breakfast. I know you like poached eggs, but I still can't make those turn out right. So I made scrambled instead."

She smiles and takes the plate from him. "Thank you." She takes a bite of the eggs. "Mmm. I see you've had a productive morning."

He shrugs. "I'm still an early riser. That hasn't changed, but I didn't see any reason for you to be up, and I know how you like your sleep," he teases.

She reaches out and puts a hand on his cheek. "I can think of a few reasons for us to be up at the same time," she grins.

He turns to press a kiss into the palm of her hand. "Well, we've got plenty of time for that next time we see each other."

"Don't leave me," she pleads helplessly, holding her arms out to him.

He takes her in his arms and kisses her until she can't breathe anymore. "Okay."

She looks up at him, startled. "What happened to 'I don't want to but I have to?'" she lowers her voice to do a pitiful impersonation of his serious tone.

He shrugs. "Like you said. Things have changed since then. If my lady commands it, I shall stay faithfully by her side until time itself ceases to exist," he announces in a pretentious British accent, then throws himself on the bed and traps her arms above her head as he peppers her face and neck with kisses.

She screams and begins to laugh so hard that she can barely choke out, "No! Augh! I was just kidding! I was just kidding you have to go to work! No! Please! Go!" he releases her hands, which she uses to push him off of her, still giggling breathlessly. "They need you at work. But you could have at least waited to shower. I might have joined you," she raises her eyebrows suggestively.

"Well see, I was just thinking about that, and I think I forgot to use conditioner," he shakes his head sadly.

She giggles. "Well we can't have that. You've gotta keep that hair healthy and moist, Agent."

He nods seriously. "I know it. You'd better accompany me to the shower and show me the proper conditioning procedure."

"I suppose I'd better," she agrees with a sigh.

Without another word, he scoops her out of the bed, covers and all, and carries her to the bathroom. She squeals in delighted surprise, her breakfast plate lying forgotten on the bedside table.

At the airport, they have a hard time detaching themselves from each other. Eventually, though, Clint extricates himself from her arms and murmurs, "I really have to go. But I'll call you as soon as I land."

She nods, her hand still tracing patterns on his. "Be safe, Agent Barton. And you're long overdue for a massage, so you'd better hurry back before those shoulders give out."

"You got it," he grins. "Take care of yourself, Becks. Get ahold of me and let me know if you need anything, alright?" She nods again, and he continues, "I'll be back for your birthday, at the very latest."

She bites her lip. "Good. Cuz you can't just miss my first 29th birthday."

He shakes his head emphatically. "Not in this life." He kisses her again, softly, before picking up his bag and stepping away from her. "Bye, Becks. I love you."

She waves as he steps onto the escalator. "Love you too, Clint." She watches until he disappears, and even when he's gone, she waits for a good ten minutes before she turns to head out to the parking lot.

* * *

The End

* * *

Once again, thank you all so much for sticking with this story! More to come—though I'm still not decided between the two Avengers story ideas that I have, I'll definitely get one of them up here soon. Both will probably be written, it'll just be a matter of which starts writing itself =P

Also, I've just put up a new chapter to my LONG-neglected "How Much Does A Polar Bear Weigh?" Criminal Minds fic, and the first chapter of another Criminal Minds one entitled "Love In the Hurt Locker," which is mostly written by this point and simply wants for addition to the website. I've also removed "Fresh Meat" because the only thing I don't hate about it is the OC I came up with and the pairing that was the point of writing it in the first place. I'll revamp it and maybe someday it'll make its way back up here under a different name.

Okay, that's all. Again, thank you! Hugs, cookies and most fervent appreciation to everyone who read and reviewed, and, as always, please please please continue to leave your thoughts in the form of reviews! =)


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